58. The Third Man

Carol Reed, 1949

In short, The Third Man is the story of a washed up pulp novelist named Rollo Martins, played by Joseph Cotton, who comes to Vienna shortly after the second World War in search of his friend, Harry Lime, played by Orson Welles. Harry Lime is supposedly dead and, worse, seems to have been the ringleader behind a black market operation that sold highly diluted penicillin, leading to a number of deaths. When the facts don’t add up, Martins goes looking for his friend, who may still be alive.

The Third Man is often considered the finest British film ever made. Who am I to argue? If nothing else, the film certainly features some of, if not the, best black and white cinematography to ever hit the screen. This film looks amazing. It uses shadows brilliantly, indeed that is the only way we see Lime throughout most of the movie, and has numerous perfect compositions. The climactic chase through the sewers of Vienna are particularly beautiful. Now, it’s a popular misconception that Carol Reed didn’t really direct the picture, but relied heavily on Orson Welles to do the real work of setting up shots and lighting the film. The lighting is certainly brilliant and it does have a Welles influence going on, but Welles maintained throughout his life that Reed was an excellent director, that he didn’t need Welles help and that Welles didn’t offer it. As much as I love Welles, we must recognize this as Carol Reed’s film. He and his cinematographer Robert Krasker are them men most responsible for what is a simply unimpeachable film, at least as far as looks are concerned.

While I feel it is important to give credit where it is due directorially, it is also important to point out Welles’ own contribution to the film: namely, his performance. Welles is always good. He appeared in any number of films he didn’t direct and there isn’t a single performance that is anything less than the best. Hell, he even managed some damn nice work in Transformers: The Movie, upstaging Judd Nelson, which is no easy job. Welles really liked this role, in that his was the character that the entire plot revolved around. He doesn’t show up until well in the movie, but everything leading up to it involves characters talking about him. Welles likened Harry Lime to a play he once saw, saying, “Mister Wu is a classic example -- I’ve played it once myself. All the other actors boil around the stage for about an hour shrieking, ‘What will happen when Mister Wu arrives?,’ ‘What is he like, this Mister Wu?’ and so on. Finally a great gong is beaten, and slowly over a Chinese bridge comes Mister Wu himself in full mandarin robes. Peach Blossom (or whatever her name is) falls on her face and a lot of coolies yell, ‘Mister W!!!’ The curtain comes down, the audience goes wild and everybody says, ‘Isn’t that guy playing Mr. Wu a great actor!’ That’s a star part for you!” And that’s exactly who Harry Lime is. He is a compelling character for nearly an hour before we ever meet him. Of course, Welles doesn’t disappoint and he is likely the only actor who couldn’t. His Lime is so full of self confidence, charm, and moral corruption that there is simply no imagining his being anything else. He lives up to his every description in the film and then some. Welles then imbues him with a series of fantastic monologues (Welles did write his character’s dialog) that remain some of my very favorite in the history of film, particularly the cuckoo clock speech.

Finally, I would just like to point out that the film’s score is every bit as impressive as the rest of it. Reed forgoes the standard sort of orchestral scoring one might expect for this sort of film in favor of a score comprised entirely of musician Anton Karas playing the zither. The result is sometimes unsettling and sometimes whimsical. It is also a score which fits perfectly on the streets of Vienna. It is so unusual and so perfect that it has become a truly iconic score, fitting for such an iconic film.